


it’s never too late (to come back to my side)

by nucodiangelo



Series: i've been away for a long time (but i finally made it back home) [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak in Love, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie and Mike stays behind in Derry while the other Losers leave, Fix-It of Sorts, Love Letters, M/M, alternative ending, the further you go from Derry the more you forget
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nucodiangelo/pseuds/nucodiangelo
Summary: Or five love letters Eddie sends Richie and the one time he gets a response.title is from the song Dorothea by Taylor Swift because... just listen to it.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: i've been away for a long time (but i finally made it back home) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064060
Comments: 28
Kudos: 80





	1. it’s never too late (to come back to my side)

**Author's Note:**

> [here's a link to a apple music playlist](https://music.apple.com/no/playlist/cigarette-smoke-against-the-evening-sky/pl.u-11zBXNBCNRWPA7?l=nb) I've been listening to on repeat that I feel like really captures the vibe of this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings include mentions of substance abuse, homophobia, internalised homophobia, hints at parental abuse, and some 'light' suicide ideation.

_... do not know if I will ever forget / I do not know if I want to / I am every age I have ever been / All time ever does is pass and all I ever do is remember / There are days I do not recognise myself in old pictures / There are times I feel like my life stopped at 18._

_\- Sue Zhao_

* * *

To: Richard Tozier

UCLA, The Residence Halls

90024 Los Angeles, CA

From: Edward Kaspbrak

Harris Avenue 4581

04401 Derry, ME

Hi Richie!

I hope you’re settled in over there! I bet the dorms are great, you were always so excited about having your own space. I wish DCC had on-campus living, maybe I could have convinced my mom to let me stay there for the weekdays to focus on schoolwork and then stay with her over the weekends. It’s not too bad at home, right now. I think mom’s overjoyed about me staying in Derry for college, so she’s being extra nice. Not that it means much, when it comes to her. She’ll be back to normal soon. Ben left yesterday. Mike and I helped him pack up the last of his things, and watched as the moving truck drove off. Mike wanted to follow it on our bikes to the city limits, but I thought that might be a bit dramatic. Now I kind of wish we did. You would probably laugh at us for that.

I start classes on Monday, and I’m really excited. I know you thought it sounded dull to study medicine, and you probably think I’m doing it for the wrong reasons, but I don’t know, I think it’s going to help. I hope you’re enjoying your classes (you’ll probably have started by the time this reaches you) and that you’ve met some cool people who enjoy theatre and comedy as much as you. Maybe you’ll even meet somebody funnier than me out there. Imagine me winking at you here. Anyways…

I miss you. I know it’s stupid because you only left two weeks ago but you haven’t called yet and it’s the longest we’ve gone without talking since the summer of 1989 when we had the whole fallout post Neibolt and you refused to talk to Bill because he punched you, and it split us all up because you two were always our glue. I always thought you were being quite an ass about it, back then. But then again, Bill was blinded by the whole Georgie thing and wasn’t really thinking about the rest of us, so I get where you were coming from. I’m sorry for bringing it all up. I know you don’t like talking about it. You never want to talk about anything serious. I know you think Bill’s the leader, but you’ve always been what keeps us together.

Beverly sent me a letter from her backpacking trip. She’s in Italy right now, I think. Unless that’s changed since she sent the letter. She seems to be having lots of fun with her aunt. I don’t know how to explain this, but she sounds distant, as if she can barely remember details about Derry anymore, and that summer… I’m jealous. It’s not like I think I need to go to Europe, but I really wish I could leave Maine. Tell me what it feels like when you respond to this, would you?

I think I might look for a job soon, just to have something to do between classes, when Mike’s working at the farm. It’s going to be very quiet around here without you.

I’m sorry I made you read this whole rambling mess of a letter, you can yell at me about it in the reply.

Call whenever you get settled, would you?

Eddie.

To: Richard Tozier

UCLA, The Residence Halls

90024 Los Angeles, CA

From: Edward Kaspbrak

Harris Avenue 4581

04401 Derry, ME

Richie!

I still haven’t gotten a reply to my first letter, so I suspect you might not have set up the post service on campus yet. That seems like a thing you would forget to do. I don’t have the number for your dorms yet either, or I would have called you, so when you eventually get these letters, please call? If you remember my number. If not, just let me know and I’ll send it to you in my next letter.

Your mom told me you booked some sort of soup commercial! Congratulations, dude, that’s awesome! Been in LA for what, four months and you’ve already had your first big break? I always knew you could do it. Maggie also told me you have a shitty roommate you don’t enjoy very much, so I’m sorry about that. Hope he grows on you, like people sometimes do. Remember how you didn’t like Beverly at first? And then the two of you became inseparable. So give him a chance, would you?

Stan visited for Thanksgiving and we got drunk in the clubhouse, all three of us. He seems a bit different. Met him in town and it took him a minute to recognize me, which is ridiculous, because we’ve known each other for seven years and have only been away from each other for a few months. After a few hours, however, everything was back to normal. Mike got so drunk he puked in the hammock, so we had to take it down to the river to wash it. It was a whole thing. Stan’s doing good at Stanford! He says his classes are really boring but he met a nice girl a few weeks ago and I honestly think he might propose to her any minute, from the way he talks about her. Patricia. Patty, as he calls her. They went to the zoo for their first date and spent four hours in the tropical birds section, go figure. I know you would have had a blast with that information, so write him some jokes and insults, and send them his way when you get the time. I’ve disclosed his address in the envelope in case you don’t have it (he said he hasn’t heard from you either).

My classes are fine. They’re really interesting, but it’s hard work, all the time. I find I don’t have much time to hang out with Mike anymore, because of it. We both have exams coming up so the only time we hang out is to study together, but it’s fine. He’s doing all these literature courses, and keeps going on about how he wishes he could talk to Bill about them. We haven’t heard from Bill or Ben since they moved. We haven’t really heard from any of you. I sometimes think Mike wishes any of you other Losers stayed behind instead of me. I have so much energy lately with nowhere to place it, and it seems to be driving him up the wall. You always were so good at redirecting it, with your bickering and teasing. You always let me yell and laugh and scream. I miss that.

Derry is the exact same place it’s always been, but somehow I also can’t really recognize it. I bike past the Aladdin and it just looks wrong to me. I can’t make myself visit the arcade. I know you always hated it here, but I think you made Derry a tolerable place to live.

Will you be coming home for Christmas? Your mom seemed unsure about it. Why wouldn’t you come home? I know Derry might now be home anymore, but we’re here. Mike and I, and your family. I knew it, that day you got your acceptance letter, that you would leave for LA and Derry would never be your home again. I am ok with that, because one day I’ll get to leave too and won’t ever want to return, but... Just please don’t forget about us. I don’t know if I could handle it, to be frank. I know you’re going to tease me for saying that, but at least that means you’ll talk to me, so it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I’ll grovel and embarrass myself more if that’s what it takes to hear from you, you ass.

I’ve been having nightmares again, like I used to after Neibolt. It’s been raining lots lately, not thunderstorms like that October Georgie went missing, or summer rain like in 89, but enough to make me dream of sewers and greywater. Having Stan back here during it was… Hard. I know you know his scars have healed almost completely, but I couldn’t stop staring at them, like I’d never seen them before. He told me he’s been getting a lot of questions about them at school. Patty apparently thinks they’re really bad ass. Wonder if he’ll ever tell her the truth about them. Would you? I keep waking up in the dead of night, flashes of moments from the sewers in my mind. It’s driving me insane. It hasn’t been this bad in years. Are you feeling it? I don’t like being here. I wish I could be out there in LA with you, doing cool things and meeting interesting people. Let me know if you ever want me to come visit.

Well, now that you have two embarrassingly long letters back to back to reply to, I’m going to be expecting it to take you weeks to finish replying, so I’ll talk to you at Christmas?

Love,

Eddie.

P.S. good luck on the commercial, I can’t wait to see it! Try not to look like an ass.

To: Richard Tozier

UCLA, The Residence Halls

90024 Los Angeles, CA

From: Edward Kaspbrak

Harris Avenue 4581

04401 Derry, ME

Hi.

It’s now January and I still haven’t heard from you. I can’t believe you didn’t come back for the holidays. Maggie told me they would be going out to LA for Hanukkah, but that she was hoping you would come for a few days over Christmas, to see Mike and me. I was really hoping so too. And then you didn’t. If you come back over winter break I have your Christmas present in the chest by my bed.

Ben and Bill came back for a week, but they were both too busy with family stuff to hang out. Rabbi Uris told me Stan didn’t come home because it felt unnecessary since he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, but he didn’t come back for Hanukkah either. Have you talked to him? I hope you had a lovely holiday. Chag Sameach! I would have called you on the actual day of Hanukkah, but I still don’t have your number. So…

I saw your commercial on the TV! You looked really good. Gangly and ridiculous as always, of course. But good. Your hair is so much longer than it was over the summer. I don’t think the soup is as good as you made it seems, which means you must be getting really good at the whole acting thing. Have you decided to major in it? I know you were unsure which one you wanted to focus on, acting or comedy. I think you’ll do brilliantly at both, but don’t let it go to your head (it’s already so big as it is). I’m really proud of you, dude. Good job out there. Let me know if you have anything else coming up soon!

Mike and I went to the Quarry today. We sat on the cliffside and talked about the old days. I think he’s hurting. I can’t really tell. I’ve never been very good at that. You and Beverly were always the ones to notice that sort of stuff. He’s snappy and moody all the time, and I think he thinks I’m too co-dependent on him now. I guess he misses you guys. He talks about Bill all the time. We haven’t heard from him since the holidays, but I think the two of them went to see a movie while I was visiting family. I wish I could have seen him.

The nightmares are getting worse. I haven’t had a peaceful night of sleep since August last year, before you guys left. I don’t know what it means. I keep dreaming of that moment, down in the sewers, when we found Stan after he was separated from us. Bill, Mike and Ben were all so sure of themselves, in the moment, trying to get him to sit up and stop the bleeding, but you and I were just sobbing. I keep seeing your face when I close my eyes at night. Stan and you have been best friends since he was born. I think I was crying because you were crying. I hadn’t seen you cry before, and it somehow made it so much more real. I keep hearing him screaming at you as you cried. “You left me alone to die”. It’s selfish, but sometimes that’s how I feel, stuck here in Derry without you guys. Fuck. I. I probably shouldn’t have written that. That is so shitty. I’m sorry. I would- I would say I don’t mean it but fuck it’s getting so hard to stay optimistic. Mike doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. About you guys, or that summer. Or any summer after. He seems to think that if you guys have all moved on and don’t want anything to do with us, we should do the same. I think he’s just hurt. You’re all really hurting us.

My mom is being really… Bad again. I was grounded for a week last month for staying out past curfew, and she wouldn’t let me watch TV or play video games or anything. I spent the entire time writing letters to the other Losers, only to read over them and finding myself so pathetic I ended up shredding them all up and tossing them. I can’t help but feel unwanted. It hurts that Bill isn’t keeping in contact, or that Beverly hasn’t sent any more letters since she came back from Europe, and Ben has only called once since Christmas, but you… I don’t know how to deal with the fact that I apparently didn’t mean enough to you to keep in contact. ~~I thought you~~ We used to be inseparable. I thought I was a person you wanted to keep in your life. You promised me, you remember? That night before you left. We were sitting on the roof of your garage, and you were smoking menthols (you pretentious ass) and you said you would call at least once a week. You seemed genuinely upset about the prospect of having to leave me behind, so what fucking happened? I was so fucking angry at you, for a while. I’m tired of being angry. I mostly just feel hollow now. ~~I though we~~ I don’t mean to guilt you into responding, or make you feel bad, really. I just have nowhere else to put all these feelings. I just want to talk to you.

Anyways. I’m expecting an explanation for your complete silence soon. Please write me back, I’m going a bit stir crazy without you.

Love,

Eds.

To: Richard Tozier

UCLA, The Residence Halls

90024 Los Angeles, CA

From: Edward Kaspbrak

Harris Avenue 4581

04401 Derry, ME

Richie.

I’ll spare you the formalities of updating you on my life. It sucks and there’s nothing to say.

I’m so fucking angry all the time. It’s been a year since we sat on the roof together and you told me you didn’t want to leave me. A year since I saw you off at the airport and you cried when we said goodbye. I stayed behind after you boarded. I stood by the huge windows overlooking the tiny runway and I watched your plane take off. I stared after you until I couldn’t see the dot in the sky anymore, and then I stayed a little longer, feeling like I couldn’t breath. I haven’t really been able to since you left. I’m tired of gasping for breath.

I understand if you’ve met new cool people who are better friends than I could ever be. Someone without a crazy mom and a fucked up brain, someone who doesn’t yell at you all the time, who laughs at all your jokes and can keep up with your wit. I really hope you have someone, that much is true. I can’t stand the thought of you alone out there, so far away from anything you’ve ever know. But the least you could have done was write me back and ask me to stop embarrassing myself with these fucking letters, if you’re so over me. I think I might not ever stop writing, unless you tell me to. I hate myself for it. I hate you more. But then that’s not true. I could never hate you, no matter how much I want to. I fucking want to hate you so much that I’ll never want to think about you again. I think about you all the time.

Do you ever think of me?

Remember in high school when we used to lay on our backs on the shore by the Quarry, sun burning our skin. We would talk about running away. You had just gotten into that big fight with Went about college, and money, and you were so angry at the world. You felt like the entire universe was against you. You said, “I don’t want to rot away in this town.” Back then you were angry all the time, the summer of 92. Beverly stopped coming to visit you, and you spent weeks raging and acting out. I used to think you were in love with her back then. When you drank and smoked and got into fights, all because she left you behind in Derry. Then, that one afternoon, when it was only the two of us because Mike was working on the farm, and Bill and Stan were on holiday, and Ben was at summer camp, you told me Beverly felt like your other half. And I made a joke about being in love, and you got all quiet. And then you said, “Eddie you idiot. Beverly’s like a sister to me.” And I was relieved, because I didn’t like the thought of sharing you with anyone. And I asked if I was like a brother to you, and you laughed really loudly and just said, “No.” I was jealous for so long after that. I’m sorry you were so angry, and felt so betrayed. I guess you understand why I want to hate you, now. I wonder if you were able to hate Beverly.

I used to think we would end up leaving together. Bill, Mike and Stan would go to Florida, because they always had that weird fascination about it. Don’t understand why. Florida sucks. Bev would go to New York (Have you talked to her? She got into FIT apparently. So at least I was right on that front) and you and I would drive your shitty pickup across the states. Just us two. Like we always talked about. We would see all the stupid sights you always talked about, like the guy with the beard made of bees, and all the museums I talked about, and we would be hungry and sleep in the car and fight a lot about directions and the temperature in the car and the music on the stereo, but we would be free, and happy. I used to daydream about that. For years before you left. I guess I never imagined in a million years that you would leave me behind. When you got your acceptance letter I could barely stand to look at you. I was so proud, you fucking know that. I was so happy for you, but I guess I expected you to ask me to come with you. I would have. In a heartbeat. I would have fought my mom, and packed my bags and I would have gone with you anywhere. I still can’t believe you never asked. Your pickup is still in the driveway, where you parked it that day before you left, and I sometimes walk past just to see it.

I guess Mike is right. I’ve never really been my own person. He would never have worded it exactly like that, but he got tired of me following him around everywhere, and he started asking to be left alone all the time and now I barely see him anymore, so I got his message loud and clear. He’s alone whenever I see him on campus or in town. I can’t believe he would rather be alone than to be with me. But he’s right about that. I’ve never been my own person. My entire childhood I was Sonia Kaspbrak’s son, and then I was a Loser. I was your friend. I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel like an amputee. Like someone’s severed off some vital part of me and I can still feel the ache of it, even if it isn’t there anymore. I don’t know how to be anyone. You always did. You were never your parent’s son or you sister’s brother or our friend. You were all those things and at the same time you were completely your own. Brave and loud and funny and warm. I keep thinking about the summer of 89, when you wouldn’t see any of us and spent every day in the arcade. I could never have done that, if my mom had let me out of the house after I broke my hand in Neibolt, that first time. I would have clung to anyone who would have let me. You were always stronger than me.

This might be the last letter I send to you for a while. I just feel exhausted with trying. It makes me feel like shit to keep trying. I miss my best friend, but I guess even I know when to let go, despite what I wrote earlier. I might keep writing them, just to get the thoughts out of my head, but I don’t think I’ll bother to mail them to you. It’s not like I’m going to get a response anyways. Fuck you. A million times.

Yours,

Eddie Kaspbrak.

P.S. I’ll still be around if you want to see me if you come back to Derry for Hanukkah this year. Or Christmas. Or Thanksgiving. You know where I live. Climb up the tree outside my bedroom window, would you? For old times sake. Do that and I might forgive you for everything. I promise I won’t be angry anymore.

To: Richard Tozier

UCLA, The Residence Halls

90024 Los Angeles, CA

From: Edward Kaspbrak

Harris Avenue 4581

04401 Derry, ME

Dear Richie fucking Tozier AKA the biggest ass ever.

Today marks two years. It’s fucking insane. Your mom says you don’t really call anymore, and when you do it’s short and sweet. She doesn’t understand why you don’t visit. I asked her if you had asked about me, and she looked really sad. I guess that’s answer enough.

I know I said in my last letter that I would stop trying, and I’m not exactly trying now, like I was at first. I don’t even want a reply to this letter. There’s no reason to. I just want to write to you, because I don’t think I can live myself if I never say this to you. I’ve started seeing a therapist, behind my mom’s back because she would freak. Mike encouraged it. We’re hanging out again. I think he’s done feeling sorry for himself and done blaming you guys for leaving us. He said it was stupid for us two to lose each other when we have already lost you guys. It’s a waste to be waiting around for someone who wants nothing to do with you. My therapist, Marjorie, said it might help me move on to just spill everything to you, no matter if you’ll respond, or even read it. Closure. A chance to be real for once in my fucking life. So here we go.

I remember the first time we met. Like it was yesterday. It was the first day of middle school and I had no friends because my mom home-schooled me until then and everyone in town knew she was crazy, and you had no one because you’d only ever known Stan and he was still in elementary, because he wasn’t smart enough to skip a year just yet, and we were both so scared. And then you took the yellow crayon right from under my nose, and I yelled at you for being a dick because yellow was my favorite color back then and you just fucking grabbed it from me. I think I might have actually said the word dick, and you laughed so hard you cried a bit at it, and then refused to leave me alone for the rest of the year. I thought you were teasing me at first, with all the fighting and jokes, and then I met Stan and I realized that’s how you show your love for people. I guess I wasn’t expecting anyone to be my friend. You gave me six of them. I might hate your guts most of the time lately, and only have Mike left, but I’ll always be grateful to you for that. I don’t think I would have been alive without you Losers. My Losers. I might not be yours anymore but you’ll always be mine. If you’ve all forgotten us, Mike and I will remember for you. It’s the least we can do to repay you all for loving us, once. We’ll keep the Losers Club alive, for as long as we can.

I feel like I’ve always been so obvious. I can’t believe you never figured me out. Or maybe you did and just didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to hurt me. I guess this letter won’t come as much of a shock to you if that’s the reason you never said anything. Beverly knew. She always could see right through us. She pulled me aside once, New Years of 89-90, and asked me about it, all kind smile and fond eyes and I spilled my entire guts out, sitting by the river as the rest of you were up on the kissing bridge watching the fireworks. Stan definitely knew. He was always so protective of you. I think you two were meant to be twins, in another life. You always liked theorizing about alternate dimensions. I think in one of them you, Stan and Bev are triplets. A fucking menace against society, all fire and anarchy, the three of you. I think Stan would have been a perfectly normal guy if he didn’t grow up with you. You always brought out the restlessness in us, our inner flames. Beverly and you were carved from the same fucking wood, that’s for sure. I don’t even remember what I was writing at this point give me a moment to recollect my thoughts. Yes. I don’t understand how you could ever look me in the eye without seeing all my secrets in them. I think you would hate me having secrets. You were always so fucking nosy, and I’m sure that hasn’t changed so if you still have no idea what I’m talking about I’m sure it’s fucking killing you to read through all this. Get to the fucking point, Kaspbrak, you dickwad.

I’m gay.

God, I can’t believe I just wrote that. I haven’t been able to say the word out loud yet, no matter how much Marjorie is patient and kind about it. Mike said it and I sobbed for an hour. Sorry for coming out to both Bev and Mike before you, but I was always so fucking scared. That cannot shock you. I am me and Derry is Derry. Gay and Derry doesn’t really go together. Pennywise made sure of that. Haven’t said that name in a while. ~~That fucking clown~~. I sometimes think I died that day, in the sewers. Or maybe I died the day you left. I walk around and I feel like a ghost of a person. I’m sure you remember the whole amputee metaphor I pulled out of my ass a few letters ago. That sure was sad. I’m so heavy with sadness I feel like if I walked into the ocean I would sink. Plunge right down to the ocean floor. I feel like I’m drowning. Like the greywater pulled me in and never let me go. Sometimes I imagine going down there again and finding my own body with the rest of them. With Betty and Georgie. That’s fucking disgusting. I’m sorry. Fuck this is so hard.

I have been in love with you for nine years this fall.

Beverly knew the second she met me. Stan must have known for years. I saw it in the way he looked at us, me and you. I saw it in the way he always took your side. Stan loved me, sure. But I don’t think Stan loves anyone the way he loves you. I hope you two are talking. I know he misses you, even if he’s forgotten, just like the rest of you.

I love you. I have always loved you. Some part of me knows I might never stop loving you.

There was a moment, back when you still lived in Derry where I thought you might love me too. There was the rumor, of course, of what happened in the arcade that day with the Bowers’ cousins, but then again we Losers never cared much for rumors, so we never asked you about it. I’m sure Bev asked. I sometimes wonder if you would have told me if I asked. Anyways, I know the rumor sucked for you, part of why you were so angry all the time, but for me it meant hope. A sliver of a chance that I wasn’t alone in my devotion. Devotion. That’s so gay of me. Sorry. And then there was the very specific moment of the night before you left. I keep thinking about it. Your eyes were the coldest shade of blue in the moonlight, and the tip of your nose was sunburnt, and you were smoking. You were all curly hair and long fingers and plump lips and I wanted to tell you. The words were on my tongue for hours as we talked. And then you told me you were afraid of leaving. That you would miss me the most of everyone, and I thought for a moment that maybe you loved me back. I wanted to kiss you so bad. It was such a movie moment, and I know you would have found it incredibly cheesy. I wanted to kiss your cigarette smelling mouth and run my fingers through your hair and hold your face until morning and then follow you to LA and never let you out of my sight for the rest of my life. I was so close to leaning in. I think I even opened my mouth to say I love you I love you please don’t leave me please be mine, and then you said, “I’m never coming back here.” Why would you say that? To me? Why would you tell me I didn’t mean enough to you to visit. It broke my heart. I sometimes wish I would have begged you to stay. I hate myself for thinking it, but something in me thinks you might have done it.

Are you the same person you were two years ago? Has LA changed you into this shiny unrecognizable thing? I don’t think I could stand to see you as something other than what I know you are. Remember when we used to meet under the bleachers during free period so you could smoke? That used to be my safe haven. Not the clubhouse, or the Quarry, or your bedroom or mine. But under the bleachers with you. Just us, because that’s when we were the calmest, and that’s when I felt the safest. I would give anything to be back there.

You make me feel genuinely insane with how much I love you. I want to rip my hair out and scream at the stars and rip open my floorboards and burn all of Derry to the fucking ground. I’m unhinged with how much I want you. It’s exhausting to want someone this much, knowing I can never have you. I could bear it, if I could only have you as a friend. I could bare all the pain and heartbreak, if I could have you in any way. If things were even a bit different than how they are now. You suck. I hate you. I love you I love you I love you.

I used to memorize your every word, your every glance, every touch, in my mind. Like I was writing a book about you. I genuinely think I remember everything you’ve ever told me. I guess I’m just tired of begging for footnotes of myself in your life, when you’ve all compassed mine.

I don’t really understand how this is going to help. You’re either never going to read this letter, or you will and you won’t care. You’ll toss it aside like the rest of them, rolling you eyes and probably make a joke to your shitty roommate about how pathetic I am. I don’t know which one would hurt the most.

That’s all I wanted to say.

I love you, so much. I won’t ever stop.

Yours, completely and wholly,

Eddie. Eds. Edward. Loser.

P.S. The Derry Articles did a short article about you recently. Apparently, you’re doing stand-up, and doing a pretty good job of it, making money and selling out bars. Making a name for yourself, like how you always wished you would be able to. Hope this letter is good for some comedic material.

It was weird seeing your face on the morning paper on my front porch steps when I haven’t seen your face in so long. You look good. You’ve always looked good. I love you.

I can’t stop writing it.

I love you. Sorry.

To: Edward Kaspbrak

Harris Avenue 4581

04401 Derry, ME

From: Richard Tozier

UCLA, The Residence Halls

90024 Los Angeles, CA

Eddie. Holy shit Eds.

I don’t know how to start this letter. I’m such a fucking asshole.

Dude, I can’t. Fuck. I don’t remember your number and I don’t know how to contact any of the others for it and my mom doesn’t know it, and I think I’m just gonna jump on a plane and come see you instead. I can’t wait a second longer. I tried calling my parents but I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t get a word out. I can’t believe I’m wasting my time writing a fucking letter when I should be seeing you face to face. Fucking shit dude, EDDIE!

~~Eds.~~

~~Eddie-~~

~~I’m-~~

God how did you fucking do this- TWO YEARS! FIVE FUCKING LETTERS I am an ass and absolute shit human being. God I’m so sorry. Sorry for the blotchy paper it’s my tears I can barely see through them I’ve been crying for hours. I might get someone to drive me to the airport, but it’s exam season I can’t leave. FUCK.

Where do I even start? I have no idea how to explain this to you to make you understand that I’m not lying when I say I had forgotten. All of it. All of you. Derry. The clown. FUCKING PENNYWISE. I had forgotten the Quarry and the clubhouse and the Aladdin, and the arcade and fucking the summer of 1989. I have no idea how. I feel like the worst person alive. I forgot you. Not in the way that I didn’t miss you and know you were a person I cared for. There was always a little something nagging me in the back of my mind. HA ha. Little something. Might have been your voice, now that I think about it. I walked around all this time with this intense hollowness in my chest, like the memory of you had been carved out of it and I couldn’t for the life of me fill it. God of course I fucking couldn’t. Like trying to put a square cube into a circled hole. Like trying to jam a horse into a refrigerator. Hey have you heard that one joke- Oh fuck this. I finally set up my postal service, so that I could order things online for fuck sake! And your letters were in there. In the mailbox I never even had the key to! I can’t believe they’ve been there this whole fucking time. And at first I was sure they had gone to the wrong person, because I didn’t think of anyone who would send me a letter, and then I saw your name in your anal little tight handwriting on the edge of the envelope and my heart dropped into my stomach, and everything came flooding back to me. I’m so fucking sorry Eddie.

CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS LETTER. IMMEDIATELY. MY NUMBER IS 213-200-5438

I mean it. Please. I need to hear your voice.

I cannot believe it. I’ve walked around for two fucking years thinking there’s something wrong with me. Feeling hollow and like I was always grieving something. GOD. Bill, Stan, Ben, Mike, Beverly, EDDIE!!!!! ! I can’t believe I spent two years looking for a person who was right where I left him. I was always looking for you.

I need you to call. GOD P L E A S E. I can’t breathe. 213-200-5438

YOURS, completely, even when he couldn’t even remember you,

Richie Tozier.

P.S. You’ve always been braver than you know.

p.s. P.S. I fucked your mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the epilogue, or the impending phone conversation, will be up before Christmas. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on twitter @richietozieer !


	2. the stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a bit carried away with this lmao.  
> Chapter TWs include: emetophobia, swift mention of cancer, mentions of homophobia, implied parental abuse, implied suicide ideation, canon-related trauma etc.  
> Thank you for the love!  
> (unedited for now!)

Eddie reads the letter once. Two times. Three times. He stares at the words until his eyes are dry and stinging, and then he reads it once more. Richie’s handwriting is messy and scratchy, and there’s splotches of where his supposed tears have hit the paper and Eddie is gripping it so hard his knuckles have turned white. He’s standing in the hallway, feet bare and freezing against the cold hardwood floor, the front door open to the cold winter air outside. If his mom was home she would have yelled at him about fifteen minutes ago when he opened the door to fetch the mail, but she was still at her sister’s house for Thanksgiving. Stepping out on the doormat outside on the porch, snow cold under his feet, he had leaned down to pick up the morning paper, only to spot the yellow envelope with his name in large bold letters on the front. Something in him had known, immediately. Despite spending the last few months fighting against any leftover hope in him. Forcing to let go of the hope blossoming in him every time the mail man turned up outside the house, every time the phone rang in the hallway downstairs. He’s spent every single minute since his last letter to Richie trying to forget about it all. He pries his eyes away from the letter long enough for him to lean forward to close the front door, and pad slowly into the kitchen to sit down at one of the uncomfortable dining table chairs there. He reads the letter again.

It can’t be real. It’s November, the morning after Thanksgiving. His last letter was sent in August, when the sun was still scorching and the air still humid. Outside the kitchen window, the snow is falling in large fluffy flakes, the wind momentarily blowing them into disarray before settling again. Eddie got back from dinner at Mike’s uncle’s farm late last night, after spending hours drinking beer and eating the most amazingly homemade meal Eddie’s had in years. He slept in that morning, still full to the brim with food and the familiar warmth of love deep in his stomach. He stares down at the letter. He can’t believe it. Richie has sent him a letter. Eddie has been imagining this scenario for over two years now. He has spent months imagining every possible explanation for Richie’s complete silence. For the way all the Losers had just cut them off, no calls, no letters, barely any visits. Not once, even when Mike had ranted on about his crazy theories, had he considered the possibility that they had all forgotten. He reads the letter once more, staring at the phone number he has been waiting for all this time, and it snaps him into action. Stumbling out of the chair, he strides over to the phone, ripping it off the receiver and dials the number without having to look at the letter for it.

The ringing is unbearable. He has no idea what he’s going to say. He’s spent so long with so much to say and no one to say them to, he doesn’t know what he will do when Richie picks up. _You’ve always been braver than you know._ Eddie grits his teeth together and stares down at the letter on the table in front of him, each ring burying itself deeper and deeper into his skull.

“Hullo, Frank speaking.” A male voice, with an incredibly thick southern accent, says from the ringer pressed against Eddie’s ear, and for a moment Eddie forgets he’s supposed to reply, “Anyone there?”

“Hey!” Eddie blurts, feeling stupid with nerves, “Uh. I think I might have dialed the wrong number?”

The guy, Frank, chuckles kindly, as if this is an occurrence he’s very used to, “Probably not. This is a phone for this entire dorm floor. Who were you looking for?”

“Oh.” Eddie mumbles, feeling his heart pick up in his chest, “Fuck. Richie? Richie Tozier?”

“Dude, you wouldn’t happen to be Eddie?” Frank asks, amusement clear in his voice.

Eddie frowns, feeling too large for his own skin, “That’s me.”

Frank lets out a loud whoop, “Oh, shit. Wait.” He must have pulled the ringer away from his mouth, because Eddie can hear him yell Richie’s name down the hall, “He told us all to stay on guard. No one has been allowed to use the phone in here for days! I had to walk downstairs to the floor below us to call my mother yesterday.”

“Uh huh. Is he… Is he there right now?” Eddie grumbles, feeling insane at the thought of Richie hogging the phone for days waiting for Eddie to call, feeling unhinged with the knowledge that Richie is so close, yet so far from reach, “Can you get him then?”

Frank laughs again, “I think he’s in his room, wait a moment. _SOPH! Sophie, baby, could you go get Richie. Tell him lover boy’s on the phone for him._ ” He calls out to someone else who must be in the hallway with him, “She’ll get him for you, Eddie.”

Eddie breathes shudders, and his brain feels like it’s about to melt right out of his ears, “Lover boy?”

“Oh yeah. Tozier’s been like a drill sergeant all week. I genuinely think he camped out in the hallway for two days straight after he read your letters. Until we finally convinced him he needed sleep, and that we would all be around to pick up the phone at any time, in case you called.”

“He didn’t sleep? Fucking idiot.” Eddie says fondly, hating how hard his heart is beating in his chest, how hot his ears are burning, “No self-preservation.”

“No, he- Oh, shit here he comes. Nice talking to you.” There’s lots of background noise for a few seconds, shuffling and mumbling and someone cheering loudly and then:

“Eddie.”

And for a moment, Eddie forgets how to breathe because Richie’s voice is low and breathless and better than he ever remembered it being, in all its awkward nasally glory. Feeling numb and so full of emotion all at once, Eddie just breathes loudly into the phone, gaping like a fish out of the water.

“Eds. You there?” Richie asks, sounding desperate, and Eddie can’t fucking stand it.

“I’m here.” His own voice is barely above a whisper, and he’s scared Richie hasn’t heard him, “Richie. Hi.”

“Fuck.” Richie giggles, sounding slightly hysteric, “I- Oh, wait. _Get the fuck out of here you nosy assholes._ _Some fucking privacy would be nice_. Sorry. There should have been phones in every room. It’s impossible to have a heartfelt conversation in peace here.”

“Oh, that’s what we’re doing now, are we?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself, because it’s so easy, in this moment, with Richie’s voice in his ears and the familiar fluttering of his heart, to slide right into the comfort of their old friendship dynamic. To push, and pull, and poke, with no real malice behind their words.

Richie laughs, but he sounds nervous, “Well, yeah.” There’s some more shuffling in the background, “Fuck, Eddie. I don’t know what to say right now. I’m so sorry for not getting back to you sooner.”

“Oh.” Eddie gasps, grabbing the corner of the table in front of him to steady himself against the sudden queasiness that hits him, “So we’re just jumping right into it?” The edges of his vision is blurry, and all he can think is _Richie. Richie. Richie._ His heartbeat thumbs in his ears with the beat of his chanting thoughts.

“I think we have to.” Richie says, sounding apologetic, in the way he used to when they were younger and he had pushed Eddie a bit too far, resulting in sharp intakes of breaths and the desperate pulls of a inhaler, “Get the bad shit out of the way before I tell you about my fucking college classes or whatever it is people tell each other when catching up after two fucking years. I’m sorry. I’m so angry at myself.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Eddie mumbles, not really meaning it, as he walks around the table so he can slide down against the wall and tuck his knees under his chin, phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder. Any anger he had felt the past two years had quickly melted into a melancholy grief, sitting right beneath his ribs. It’s hard to be angry when you’re busy grieving the boy you used to be, the friends you used to have, you life you should have lived.

“I meant what I wrote in my letter. The whole… I forgot you. Thing. It’s true. I don’t mean it in the way that normal people might forget each other, with the passing of time and distance between them. That would never be the case, and I’m so sorry you walked around for two years thinking that.” Richie says, rambling slightly, “What I mean is... I got off the plane at LAX and my entire past was blurry. It was like the miles between me and Derry had just completely wiped away everything important. I couldn’t even remember what I had for breakfast that morning. I couldn’t remember how I had gotten to the airport, or saying goodbye to my parents, or saying goodbye to you. I was just out here, in LA, and I knew where I was from and who I was, but everything else was just. Gone. I have no idea how that’s even possible.”

“We had blueberry waffles at your place.” Eddie says, because he has no idea what else to respond, “You ate like eight, dunked in maple syrup, and then you made Maggie pack you three more for the flight.”

“Fuck.” Richie groans, “The fact that you remember that just makes me feel even worse. Fucking hell, dude, I can’t believe this shit. How is this possible? How could I _ever_ forget _you_?”

Eddie sighs shakily, and his heart hurts, “Mike has some theories. I never really listened to him, because it sounded fucking insane, and I would rather believe you were all just absolutely horrible friends than… That. But now. I don’t know anymore, maybe he was right.”

“Mike… Fuck. How is he?”

Eddie narrows his eyes, staring up at the staircase in front of him, “Why don’t you call him and ask?” He asks, and then feels like an ass.

“Eddie… Jesus Christ. You know that’s not- Or maybe you don’t. God now that I remember you, you’re exactly the same person you’ve always been. I must seem completely different to you. You must think I’m a horrible person. A person who leaves his best friends and never stays in touch.” Richie sighs, sounding devastated and tired, and Eddie feels horrible about everything that has ever happened to them, “I’ve been waiting by the phone for four days. I was about to call my mom and have her storm your house.”

“I just got your letter this morning.” Eddie explains.

Richie lets out a soft laugh, “I was afraid you maybe just weren’t going to call. It would make sense, if you didn’t. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to talk to me again.”

Eddie groans, closing his eyes tight enough to see stars behind his eyelids, “Did my letters give you any inclination that that’s what I wanted, dickhead?”

“No. No, they didn’t.” Richie says, so fondly it makes Eddie want to do laps around the neighborhood. His hands are shaking violently where they are gripping his knees, fingertips cold with nerves, palms sweaty.

“Exactly.” Eddie says, then is at a loss for words, “How are you?”

Richie lets out a pitiful laugh, “Right now? Well, I just remembered my entire childhood, trauma and repression included, and everything I’ve been feeling for the past two years just suddenly made sense. I’m doing fucking horrible. I read through your letters and was about to just drop out of college so I could go back to Derry and see you. I feel like I’m going insane.”

“Yeah.” Eddie huffs, “Welcome to the club. It sucks here. I’ll send your membership card in the mail.”

“Eddie… Could we– God, I have no idea where to even begin. There’s so much to say, so much to apologize for.”

“I’ve been waiting for two years. I think I can manage the patience to hear you out now, however long it takes.” Eddie says, and then thinks about the way Richie sounds on the verge of tears, “I don’t think you understand how I felt when I opened the door to get the mail this morning and found your letter. I’ve been imagining what it would feel like for fucking two years and I still wasn’t prepared.”

Richie giggles slightly, sounding relieved, “What if I got your letters and went through them with you, answering them as if I was sending you a letter back? Do you think that could work?”

“I suppose so. I might die of embarrassment before we get through the first letter, but let’s.” Eddie breathes, leaning his head back against the wall. Richie tells him to stay put as he runs back to his room to get the letters, and Eddie spends two agonizing minutes feeling nerve wrecked, and like he wants to crawl out of his skin. He debates putting Richie on hold to call Mike to update him on the situation, but the thought of even risking the call being broken makes him want to throw up. The phone rustles loudly as Richie picks it back up from where it’s dangling off the wall.

“Back! Simon, my roommate is having a girl over, so that was really awkward.” Richie chuckles, background noises suggesting he’s sitting down on the floor and getting comfortable, “I’ll just start by saying Simon definitely grew on me. He’s a bit like Bill, actually, now that I know that Bill exists and what he used to be like. A little bit of a dick, but a really good friend. God, I miss Bill.”

Eddie chuckles, heart clenching painfully at the thought, at the longing he feels, “I’m glad. I think your mom mentioned it, when I asked about it last year.”

Richie sighs, “I can’t believe you talked to my mom about me for so many months and I never remember her bringing you up once.” He laughs slightly, then coughs, “Then again, forgetting everything good Derry ever gave me kinda made me be an ass to my parents.”

“That’s unforgivable. One thing is being a dick to Mike and me, but Maggie? You ass!”

“Yeah.” Richie breathes, sounding heartbroken, “I called her last night, because- Well I wasn’t doing so hot. I obviously couldn’t explain the situation to her, ancient entity who’s the very personification of fear dressed in a clown costume considered. I told her I didn’t recognize myself anymore, that I think I’ve been lost for a while, but that you helped me find myself again.”

“Oh.” Eddie breathes, feeling insanely hot all over and somehow freezing, at the same time.

“Sorry.” Richie laughs, and there’s the familiar rustling of papers in the background, “Ok… So, in your first letter you asked about my dorm, and my roommate, and classes. There’s not much to say. And I don’t really feel like wasting my time with it. I decided to major in comedy, minoring in script writing. So I can eventually maybe write comedies one day. I did think I was going to end up focusing my BA on music, at first, and then I took an improv comedy class my second semester and fell in love.” He says, all in one breath, and then stops, laughing shakily, “How about you? How’s school?”

Eddie hates how fond he feels, how much his heart feels like it’s melting out through his ribs, dripping down into the bottom of his stomach, making him feel gushy and warm all over. He has always loved listening to Richie ramble. Richie can talk with no breaks for however long people let him, and Eddie’s always been inclined to listen, never wanting to be a person who asks him to be quiet. He runs a shaky hand through his hair, “School’s really good, actually. It’s one of the few things about my life right now that makes it all seem worth it. I love all my classes this semester, and I get to do more practical work next year, which I’m really looking forward to.”

“So, you’re going to be a big-time doctor?” Richie says, and Eddie can hear the grin in his voice, and his heart flutters pathetically in his chest.

“I guess.”

“Like, surgical or? General practitioner?”

Eddie’s a bit surprised Richie even asks, “Uh, surgical oncology. Actually.”

“Oh.” Richie breathes, “Like… Because of your dad?”

Eddie’s heart feels tight, “Yeah. I guess so. Yes.”

“Well, can’t wait to watch you cure cancer, dude.” Richie laughs, sounding proud and fond and happy, and Eddie wants to scream. Howl at the moon until his throat is raw and painful. He settles with grinning stupidly at the wall in front of him instead.

“Ok, next.” Richie says, shuffling the papers in his hand, obviously switching to Eddie’s second letter, “Stan has a girlfriend! What’s her full name? What does she look like?”

“I’ve never met her, asshole.” Eddie huffs, fighting the way the sides of his mouth pull upward, “Patricia Blum. Stan says she’s tall and Jewish. I didn’t really ask for many details.”

Richie snorts, “Of course you didn’t.” He laughs, “Do you know if they’re still together?”

“Uh. I think so? I haven’t heart from him since Thanksgiving two years ago, even though he was home for like a week this summer. From the way he talked about her back then, I can’t imagine they’re not like, fucking engaged or something by now.”

Richie goes really quiet on the other line, and Eddie feels worry clutch at his heartstrings, “Fuck. If I missed Staniel’s wedding I think I will set myself on fire.” He says, and it’s supposed to be a joke, Eddie thinks, but there’s not even a hint of humor in his tone, and Eddie understands, because he’s been thinking the exact same thing for months.

“I don’t actually think they’re married. Rabbi Uris would probably insist they get married at the temple in Derry, so I suppose I would have heard about it.” Eddie says, rushed, wanting to calm Richie’s sadness.

“Probably.” Richie agrees, sounding lighter, “Fuck. That’s great though. I can’t believe he replaced me. I guess if we can fix all of this shit, I’ll still have the chance to be his best man. He asked me when we were seven. I will not let him back out of that, even though he doesn’t know I exist.”

Eddie just chuckles.

“I’m just gonna skim over this next part here where you for some reason say that you think Mike would have preferred any of us other Loser’s stayed behind instead of you, because that’s fucking idiotic. Who was the first one to jump into the dirty water of the Kenduskeag to throw rocks at those fucking racist assholes who were probably going to kill him? Mike loves you. He was just sad.”

“I know.” Eddie says wetly, tears stinging his eyes, “I think I was just really out of it. I felt really unwanted and out-of-place, all the time. It was unfair of me to think he could ever have a mean thought in his head.”

Richie chuckles, “Moving on. Sad stuff about me being an ass to you guys and my family, yadda yadda.”

“Fuck you.” Eddie snaps, with no real anger behind it, and it makes Richie snort, and Eddie fights hard to not feel so pleased at that.

“I didn’t come back for Hanukkah or Christmas that first year because… Fuck. This is hard.” He breathes heavily, and Eddie feels nervousness grip his throat, “I was doing _really_ bad, actually. I was so lonely and hollow my first semester here. I walked around with this deep hole in my heart, the trauma just on the back of my tongue, missing you all without knowing I did was eating me alive. I called my parents during midterms and just fucking broke down. They were worried, I suppose, and they flew out to spend the holiday with me.”

“Shit.” Eddie mumbles, wanting more than anything to reach out and hold Richie’s hand, feeling desperately frustrated at the distance between them, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah well, nothing’s like your parents coming over to be on suicide watch to make the holidays bright and lovely.” He says, humorous in the way his self-deprecating jokes have always been, like he desperately wants people to laugh with him, not at him, and Eddie can’t help but snort.

“Shut up, oh my god.”

Richie laughs brightly, “It was real fucking sad. All sandwiched into my shoebox of a dorm room. Chris came over from Chicago and slept on the floor while my parents took Simon’s bed, while he was home south with his family, and we spent the eight days of Hanukkah pretending they were there for the holidays and not to prevent me from being fucking stupid. It was really a good ol’ time.”

Eddie hums, hating how the blood roars in his ears at the thought of Richie being that broken. Hating that he was just as ruined by the distance between them as Eddie was.

“I was having real bad nightmares too. That fall and winter, after I left. I kept dreaming about It, about the sewers and those floating corpses, about Betty Ripsom’s fucking halved body behind that door at Neibolt. I kept dreaming of your broken arm, about Ben’s carved stomach, about Stan’s bleeding face. I didn’t recognize any of your faces and I thought I was going insane. I kept waking up screaming and crying, and I didn’t understand that the nightmares weren’t just a product of my fucked up imagination, but actual memories.”

“Yeah. I don’t know if it was better remembering that it was all real. That it all happened to us.” Eddie says, honestly, “I’m sorry you were alone in it, though. I wish I could have been there for you.”

“Don’t fucking apologize, Eddie, you absolute nutcase.” Richie laughs, “Forget it.”

Eddie clamps his mouth shut, frowning.

“Ok, where was I... Oh, yeah. Do you still have that present for me?”

Eddie’s faces flushes with embarrassment, “Yes.” He mumbles, “I tried throwing it out one night where I was so angry I could barely breathe. I went and got it out of the trash right after, and it’s been in the chest ever since. It’s… A stupid fucking gift, anyways. I was going to mail it to you but then I just felt pathetic about the whole thing.”

“What is it?” Richie asks, voice so raw and kind Eddie almost chokes on the emotion that surges up his chest and into his throat.

“You’ll just have to come back for Christmas this year, if you want to know.” Eddie says, forcing challenge into his tone to cancel out the pathetic happiness he feels.

Richie laughs loudly, as if he’s nervous, “Yeah, sure. I can do that.” He says, then coughs, “Fuck, I’ll be there. Nothing can hold me back now. I’m leaving the second I hand in my last exam. I can’t fucking wait. Derry won’t know what hit it.”

Eddie laughs wetly, feeling at the verge of tears at the thought of seeing Richie again, finally. He imagines Richie standing at his front porch, snowflakes melting in his wild curls, nose and cheeks red with cold, smiling at Eddie like he’s never been happier to see him in his life. His heart does a stupid somersault in his chest, and he almost passes out with how overwhelming it all is.

“Great.” He stutters, sounding absolutely as wrecked at he feels, and Richie lets out something resembling a whimper on the other end of the line.

“The next part of this letter is really sad. I don’t know if you want to talk about it.” Richie mutters after a few moments of silence, voice thick, like he’s holding back tears, and Eddie’s stomach drops. God, if his emotions keep going through this never-ending rollercoaster of a ride, he’s going to throw up, or pass out.

“Ah, the whole. Stan reference and ranting about how unwanted and angry I felt. Yeah. Uh. We can skip that, for now.” Eddie says, shaking slightly.

Richie sighs, “Yeah, well. The rest of the next two letters aren’t much better. So I guess we’ll have to suck it up.”

Eddie snorts, “Yeah, no. I didn’t even realize how fucking depressing I was sounding until after I sent them off and looked at the copies I kept. If I was you, I wouldn’t have replied to me either.” He tries to joke, but Richie groans at him in reply, clearly unhappy with it.

“If I had actually received them, I would have replied to anything you sent me. You could have sent a ten-page review of some shitty movie you watched, and I would have read it all three times and then given you a full report back with my own thoughts and feelings.” Richie laughs, and then sighs, “It’s what you deserved. I wish I could have given you that. I’ve missed your absolute insane rambles so bad my stomach hurts when I think about it.”

“Oh.” Eddie sighs, feeling insane, and like he might just steal his mother’s RV and drive all the way to LA to slap Richie in the face or kiss him on the mouth.

Richie shows Eddie some mercy by ignoring his pathetic little gasp, and moves right along with the letter, “I haven’t been able to breathe properly either. I stepped off the plane and found that I couldn’t catch my breath properly. I’ve walked around for two years lightheaded and heavy chested, feeling like I could never pull enough air into my lungs.”

“Yeah.” Eddie mumbles, tears prickling hotly in his eyes, and he blinks frantically, but they fall nonetheless, “I opened your letter this morning and caught my first real breath of air in years.” He admits.

Richie laughs wetly, “Fuck. Yeah… That’s exactly how I felt too.” He sounds like he’s crying, and it only makes Eddie’s own tears fall faster, and he rubs angrily at his face with ice-cold fingers.

“Ok. So now the rest of the two letters are all about… Your.” Richie stops, seemingly to recollect his thoughts, to find the words, and Eddie holds his breath and squares his shoulders, bracing himself for what comes next, “Feelings.”

“Yes.” Eddie grits his teeth together, feeling determined, “What about them?”

Richie snorts, choking slightly on his tears, “Snappy as always, Eds.”

“Get on with it.” Eddie snaps, like a challenge. Truth or dare, asshole.

“You mentioned that day at the Quarry, during summer of 1992. God, dude I cannot believe how fucking dense you are. When you asked me about Beverly and I told you that I didn’t see you as a brother, that was so… transparent. Of course I didn’t fucking see you as a brother, I can’t believe you would even ask me that.”

Eddie furrows his brows, “Oh, I’m sorry that I was trying to find out if you liked Beverly better than me. I was fucking insecure about my place in your life.”

Richie laughs even louder, sounding slightly unhinged, “Jesus. Eddie.” He snorts, “You then go on and on about how I didn’t ask you to come with me, and I’m sorry that I was too subtle and you were fucking blind, but I did ask.”

Eddie feels his eyebrows try to escape up into his hairline, and his heart thumps painfully hard in his chest, “What?” He protests, “When the fuck did you ask? I think I would have remembered.”

“When we sat on the roof of my parent’s garage, that night before I left. You even mention it in your letter. When I told you I was never coming back to Derry, I didn’t mean it as a goodbye, or as a general statement. That was me begging you to come with me. I wanted you to understand that I didn’t want to leave without you. I was asking. I guess I just wasn’t doing it in a way you understood, because you got that fucking hard look on your face, and then didn’t say anything, and I thought that was you saying you didn’t want to go with me.”

“That’s…” Eddie stutters, anger surging in his stomach, hot and prickly, “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. What the fuck are you on about? How about instead of going, _hi Eddie, I’m never ever coming back here every again, sorry_ , you could have gone _, hi Eddie, please come to LA with me_!” His tone goes up in pitch for almost every word until he’s almost squeaking into the speaker, feeling insane and like his head is on fire.

Richie splutters, “Hey, fuck you! You could have gone, _hi Richie can I come with you_? Instead you asked if I saw you as a brother and then helped me pack my fucking suitcase!”

“You refused to roll up your socks!” Eddie yells, confusing himself with what he says. What the fuck is happening right now? He feels like the fabric of the very universe he’s been constructing himself for the past two years are crumbling down all around him. A universe where Richie wanted to leave, and didn’t care much that Eddie wasn’t coming with him. He had asked. He had asked in his own insane way, and Eddie, who’s known him like the backside of his own hand for most of his life, didn’t get it. Too blinded by his own nervous love, his feelings, his fear that Richie would push him away if he knew the depth of his hunger for him, to see the ways in which Richie was exposing himself to Eddie. He bangs his head back against the wall behind him in frustration.

“Yeah, well. I still don’t think the sock rolling made much of a difference, in the long run. I opened my suitcase when I got to my dorm and stared at the bundles and was so fucking confused.” Richie laughs, and he sounds slightly hysteric.

“Oh, go choke on your socks, dickwad.” Eddie grumbles, gritting his teeth together.

“I love you too, you know?” Richie says, laugh still lingering in his voice, but without any hint of teasing or humor behind the actual words. And Eddie’s brain short-circuits, and all he can hear is his blood roaring in his ears, feels his heartbeat in his throat.

“Oh.” Eddie says over a broken sob, “Uh.”

“I’ve loved you since that first time we met, when you got all red faced and snapped at me like you wanted to bite my head off over a fucking crayon. I looked at you in that moment and knew I never wanted to part from you; never wanted to know a life without you ever again. I hate myself for leaving. I never would have left if I knew this was going to happen.”

“You… Uh.” Eddie whispers, feeling like his brain has melted right out of his ears, his hands shaking against his knees, and his knuckles white from how hard he’s clenching his hands into fists. He tries to get a hold of a single coherent thought going through his brain but it’s all just _Richie. Richie. Richie. I love you. I love you. I love you._

“You ok there, Eds?” Richie laughs softly, sounding incredibly tender.

“No.” Eddie breathes, “Yes. Fuck. Yeah.”

“I never thought you would ever… Want me.” Richie says, like he’s admitting to something, “I’ve been yours for most of my life, in some way or another. I spent so many years teaching myself how to conceal my feelings for you with jabbing elbows and dirty jokes, and then Pennywise fucking tortured me the whole summer of 1989 about being a big homo, and I felt like if I didn’t get out of Derry I would die there. You’ve never have had to ask for it, Eddie. I have always been willing to give you anything, everything. All of me. I just never expected you to want it.”

“That’s what Pennywise used against you? Back then?” Eddie asks, trying to focus his brain on certain parts of Richie’s little speech, so his heart won’t fucking explode with the intensity of his affection.

“Yeah.” Richie breathes, “You remember that day in Bassey Park, when Stan was telling us about that woman he kept seeing, and Mike told us about his parents?”

“Yeah. You were being a real dick about it all, if I recall.” Eddie mutters, smiling slightly. His heart is so full, he feels like he could do a marathon with all the adrenalin surging through his veins as his head replays the words, _I love you_ in Richie’s sure and tender voice _._

“Yes, well. When am I not? Anyways, Mike asked us what we were all afraid of, and I said I was scared of clowns.”

“I remember. There was a clown on the stage behind us making creepy ass balloon animals. I had just met It in real life, and I was fully freaked out about it.”

“Yeah. Well, I lied. The whole clown thing was less about actual clowns and more about that psychopathic alien asshole knowing I was gay. I was so fucking afraid that you guys would find out. That _you_ would find out.” Richie says, voice small and ashamed, and Eddie wants to punch his hand through the drywall like some teenage boy with anger issues, “I was so horrified of how deep my love for you was. How intense my feelings were.”

Eddie takes a deep breath to try to calm himself down, “Fuck, Richie. You’re making me want to burn Derry to the ground and dance on the ashes.”

“Ah, arson looks good on you Eddie.” Richie laughs, tone flirty, and Eddie blushes all the way down to his bare toes. He stares at his feet, feeling embarrassed and pleased all at once.

“So you’re gay?” Eddie says, shocked at how smoothly the words leave his lips, his heart picking up speed.

Richie chuckles, “Yeah. I suppose. Most people here at school know. I haven’t really told my parents yet, but they’ve probably always known. I came out to Beverly when we were fifteen, after about seven beers, one weekend when I was visiting her in Portland. Stan’s known as long as he’s known me, probably. He never had to be told. That preceptive fucker. God I miss him.”

Eddie laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do. His skin itches and his head is dizzy with want, desperate to be able to touch Richie and run his fingers through his hair and brush his lips against every inch of skin he can reach.

“How’s homosexuality treating you, then?” Eddie asks, feeling giddy and insane.

“Meh, I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember and couldn’t make myself feel anything for anyone else, so this far it’s been quite boring.”

“You… Haven’t been with anyone?” Eddie asks, even though he’s scared of how he’s going to be able to handle any answer Richie might give him.

Richie hums, like he’s uncomfortable, “I have. I just haven’t enjoyed it very much. Too busy being in love with a short, rage-filled hypochondriac that I had forgotten.”

Eddie’s face feel like it’s on fire, “I- Fuck off! How could you have been in love with me if you forgot me?”

Richie chuckles, like he’s enjoying Eddie’s little outbursts, like he’s missed them, “I don’t think I ever really forgot you. I had no idea you ever existed, sure. But there was always some part of me that never could forget. Before you cut me off to be a little dick about it, hear me out. I once broke it off with a guy because he was _too nice_ to me, and then I left a date once because he didn’t wash his hands before we sat down to eat. God, I once told a guy he didn’t yell at me enough! That’s insane!” He laughs, but nothing’s really funny, “I’ve been told I have crazy weird preferences for two years, but I think I was just looking for you. I couldn’t be with anyone else, even if I didn’t understand why at the time. I was always searching for you, I think.”

“Oh.” Eddie whispers, insanity burning in his chest, affection flowing through the veins under his skin. His breath hitches slightly, his hands are sweaty, and he has the intense urge to run to Derry airport and get on the first flight to LA.

“I thought… Fuck, ok, this is going to be pathetic so bear with me.” Richie laughs, sounding hysteric, “I thought for a moment that I was unable to love anyone. I have a few friends out here, at school and some people who do stand-up at the same bars as me, but I haven’t been able to really get close to anyone. My heart’s so full of love, but I think forgetting you guys made me numb to it, unable to feel those feelings. And then, I remembered. And it all flooded right back in, and I… I fucking threw up; it was so overwhelming. To remember my love for you Losers. For _you_. God, I spent two years thinking I was destined to live my life alone, only to realize I had already met my soulmates.”

“Oh.” Eddie repeats, wanting to slap himself for not being able to say anything else, “I guess a part of me was hoping. I was always hoping. I just didn’t dare try to find out, properly. Incase you didn’t want me that way.”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you couldn’t see how in love with you I was. I felt like I was being so obvious, all the fucking time. I felt like it was written in bold letters on my forehead. I used to have to force myself to look away from you, to keep my lingering touches to myself. I was never really that good at self-control, though.”

Eddie sighs, clenching his jaw and furrowing his brows to get through what he’s about to say, “I guess I thought that maybe you knew how I felt, and that’s why you left. That you didn’t reply to my letters because you were finally free of me. I made myself crazy with theorising, and then Mike made me insane with his conspiracies, so I gave up on trying to figure you out altogether, because it didn’t make sense. Any of it.”

“God, I hate myself so fucking much. How could I ever make you think that?” Richie’s voice is tense with emotion, wet and hoarse, and Eddie’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. “I can’t believe how fucked this all is... I spent my entire childhood loving you, only to push you so far away I don’t know if I’ll ever have you back.”

“You don’t really have to worry about that Richie. I’ve waited my entire life for you; two years were never really going to change anything, no matter how much I tried to let go of my love for you.”

“Eds. Fuck.” Richie sobs, wet and so full of emotion.

“If Mike’s right about the whole situation, it isn’t your fault. Any of it.” Eddie argues, hating how broken Richie sounds in his ear, wanting to comfort him and make him understand that Eddie would have forgiven him even if he had to wait until they were both forty years old. Eddie would have loved him and waited for him for decades, until he was on his death bed, if he had to. If that’s what it would have taken.

“It doesn’t make it better.” Richie sighs, sniffling slightly. Eddie imagines him sitting on the linoleum floor of the dorm hallway, legs crossed, and phone pressed to his ear, and his heart feels like it’s going to jump right out of his chest.

“I guess not. But it means that you have nothing to apologise for. Rich, that fucking clown stole your memories and your happiness... That’s so fucked. You’re a victim here too. Bev, Stan, Bill and Ben all forgot you. You’re allowed to be sad, but I won’t let you fucking blame yourself.”

“Well, I fucking left didn’t I? I wanted you to come with me and I was too afraid to ask for it in a way you would understand because I was horrified of rejection. I left.” Richie’s voice raises slightly in volume, but he seems to remember that there’s people right behind the doors all down the hall, and he ends up sort of yell-whispering into the receiver.

Eddie feels insane, and angry and frustrated, “To go to college! To get a degree you always dreamed off! To chase your dreams!”

Richie groans, “You were my dream! All I ever wanted to do was spend my life by your side. I was just a fucking coward!”

Eddie’s breath hitches, but he refuses to back down, no matter how pathetically his heart is beating in his chest at that, “Fuck off! You were a scared closeted teenager in a homophobic town that traumatised and brutalised you your entire childhood for being gay! You got out, that was self fucking preservation.”

Richie’s quiet for a while, and Eddie suspects he’s crying, because his breath is ragged and he keeps sniffling, and it breaks Eddie’s heart to listen to, “Ok.” He finally says, “Fuck. Ok. Well, I’m still sorry. I’ll try not to blame myself, but the thought of you back in Derry thinking I didn’t love you and didn’t want anything to do with me still fucking breaks my heart. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Eddie huffs, fondly, “I- Thank you. Me too. I’m sorry you walked around feeling unable to love, lonely and hollow. If there’s one thing I’m sure of in this life is that you, Richie Tozier, are destined for love and happiness. You were put on this earth to be loved and to love. No question about it.”

“I still have a lot of life left.” Richie says, smile clear in his voice, and Eddie can’t help but grin, “So what now? How do we fix this? What about the others?”

Eddie rubs a hand over his face, “I don’t know. Mike’s theory is that something about us killing Pennywise has caused all of this. Some curse. You remember how weird and distant Beverly got after she moved to her aunts in Portland? She never really forgot us because she kept in contact with you and Ben, but the longer between visits the more distant she became.”

“Yeah.” Richie breathes, “I used to think it was because of the whole… Trauma thing. Her dad, and the clown. I thought maybe she was just trying to distant herself from the memories.”

“Maybe that’s part of it. Mike thinks that the further away from Derry you guys went the faster you forgot it all. Beverly took years to forget, because she was just two hours by car away from us, and kept coming back to visit. You however, moved across the country, and forgot the second you stepped a foot out of the plane, and didn’t come back once.”

“Shit.” Richie huffs, “Do you think that means… It isn’t dead?”

Eddie fights back the panic that surges up his throat, threatening to spill out of his pores, “I don’t know. I’m not sure. You haven’t forgotten again, since you read the letters. Maybe that means it was an once time thing? That as soon as we all remember, we won’t ever forget again?”

“I hope so. All I know is that we can’t be apart like this, anymore. We have to remember.”

“Mike and I haven’t spoken to any of you guys in over a year. Bill stopped calling within a few months, and Ben’s family moved away shortly after he did, so we haven’t seen him since that day he left. Stan came home this summer, as I mentioned. I met him at the shop-and-stop and he gave me a smile, like he recognized me but couldn’t place my face or remember my name. I haven’t heart from Bev or you since August two years ago.”

“Fuck. Ok, so what I’m thinking. Bear with me here, Eds.” Richie laughs, and Eddie clamps his mouth shut to listen, “Is that it’s our responsibility to reunite to Losers Club. You and Mike won’t have to bear the torch alone anymore. Thank you for keeping it alive, but I’m here now, and I won’t let you do it alone.”

Eddie smiles, tears blurry in his eyes, “Thanks, it’s been quite boring at the clubhouse lately. Glad for a fresh, but familiar, face. How are we going to get hold of the others?”

“I have exams this week and next, but then I’m off for the semester. I’ll get the bus down to Stanford and hunt down Stan. He’ll probably judo flip me and then sob like a little bitch when he recognizes me, I can’t wait!”

“Interesting tactics but do go on.” Eddie laughs.

“I’ll convince him to come back to Derry with me immediately. Patty will probably come too, because knowing Stan he’s a co-dependant fucker, so she’s probably very much so too. It’ll probably be a bit hard to explain to her who I am and why she’s never heard of Stan’s best friend before, and Stan will probably want to tell her the entire truth, so who knows if she’ll even want to step a foot in Derry… You and Mike will have to track down the others and give them a call.”

Eddie raises a brow, “Ben’s at MIT, Bev’s at FIT, Bill’s at Colombia. How the fuck are we going to get to them?”

“Call the administrations offices, they all have records of students and contact info. Go by the Denbrough’s and demand to know Bill’s number. I have Bev’s aunt’s number somewhere at my parents’ house, I can ask them to look for it, and then you can ask her to give you Bev’s info. I don’t know, take the bus up to New York and knock on every dorm door until you find them, if you have to.” Richie’s rambling, sounding excited and nervous, and Eddie feels so fond he’s a bit afraid he’s going to throw up.

“Don’t give Mike that idea, he’ll do it. He’s got this shitty tiny Ford that’s one mile away from breaking down and never starting up again, and he might get the idea to kidnap me and drive to get them.” He laughs, “I’ll go by your house this afternoon. It’ll be good to see Maggie again.”

Richie chuckles, “I bet.” His voice is soft and tender, and Eddie bites his lip.

“What are you wearing?” He asks before he can stop himself, and then feels his cheeks flush to an alarming heat.

Richie snorts, “How dirty of you, Kaspbrak…”

“Fuck off.” Eddie groans, “I didn’t- Fuck. I just want to be able to picture you in my head, right now. I miss you so much I can’t fucking stand it. Please fucking tell me what you’re wearing so I can feel like a normal human being.”

“Still a bit dirty.” Richie teases, but he sounds undeniably soft, “I’m just in a dark green UCLA sweatshirt and boxers.”

“You’ve been sitting out in the hallway for over an hour in just your boxers? In late November?” Eddie laughs, trying to conceal the tenseness to his voice, the way his breath is slightly ragged at the thought.

“Yeah, got a few weird looks from some of my hall-mates who’s walked past, but they’re pretty used to it. I don’t like wearing pants.”

Eddie chuckles, but it sounds strained, “I’m glad that’s a recent development. I don’t think I would have survived long if you had started dropping your pants in the clubhouse.”

“Eddie, baby, if I had dropped my pants in the clubhouse you would either have ranted about hypothermia for an hour or you would have jumped my skin.” Richie laughs, and Eddie’s brain feels like it’s going to explode at the pet name.

He coughs, “Probably.”

“Anyways. Can you give me Mike’s phone number so I can call him?” Richie laughs, “I really want to hear more about this theory of his, and hear all about his life. I miss him.”

Eddie’s heart slows down it’s furious beating, and he hates the disappointment he feels at the thought of this conversation ever having to end, of having to get off the phone and not listen to Richie’s breathing anymore, “Uh, sure. I suppose that means you don’t want to have phone sex then.”

Richie splutters, a little squeak leaving him, “Eddie, fuck you can’t just… Is that where we’re heading? Because fuck Mike, he can wait!”

Eddie laughs, in a way he hasn’t laughed in years, “No. I was joking. I’m not going to have phone sex with you while you sit on the dirty hallway floor that you share with like thirty others, and while my mom can walk through the front door at any second.”

“But you would do it, under other circumstances?” Richie breathes, his voice an octave deeper than usual, and the pit of Eddie’s stomach burns. He’ll have to stop this before he can’t backtrack, and ends up doing exactly what he just said he wouldn’t.

“Probably not.” He breathes, like a liar, “Mike’s number is 207-900-7474. Give him a call.”

Richie huffs, sounding a bit disappointed, “And while I do that, you’ll get your ass up the street to visit my parents. Knowing my mom, she’ll probably offer to get you a flight ticket out to LA the second she opens the door. Get Bev’s aunt’s number. I’ll call you tonight, ok? I don’t think I can go more than a few hours without hearing your voice again. We can revisit the whole phone sex thing, then. Everything’s sexier after dark, you know.”

Eddie sighs, grinning, “Yeah. Maybe. I won’t fly out to LA though, even if she does offer. I have exams too.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to, I was just preparing you for what you’re in store for. I’ll come to Derry the second I’ve found Stan. Two weeks, tops. I’ll see you then.”

Eddie’s heart palpitates in his chest, and he’s a bit scared his ribs are going to be bruised after all this, “Ok. Call me later.” He breathes, sounding raw and so in love it’s honestly a bit embarrassing.

“Sure thing, Eds.” Richie whispers, “I love you. I can’t wait to kiss you senseless when I see you again. Be prepared to be fully wooed.”

Eddie chuckles softly, tears hot in his eyes again, so full of love he can barely think, “It won’t be hard work. You wooed me plenty with your stupid glasses, bad jokes and soft touches back in grade school. I’ve never been hard to woo. Not when it’s you.”

Richie huffs fondly, “Say it back Eddie.”

“I love you too.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you in a few hours. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on twitter @richietozieer !


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